One day in late January, when winter was still dragging its feet over leaving Istanbul, I saw a puzzling sight while crossing the city's iconic Galata Bridge by cab. A group of men stood leaning against the brick walls of the bridge, seemingly in deep meditation as they cast their fishing lines into the water below. They seemed to belong in a tableau, these men patiently waiting for a prized catch to bite the bait. I wondered if fishing was just a hobby, since they didn't seem to be in a hurry to wind up or get anywhere. I never got off the cab to find out, but I knew who they were, thanks to an American I had met serendipitously a few days earlier.

Outside Istanbul's Ataturk International Airport, a cabbie had approached a few of us tourists with a novel cost-cutting scheme. If four of us shared a cab, he would get us to our individual destinations for 10 Turkish Lira (approx Rs 290) a piece, as opposed to double that for normal fare. With the polite hesitation of tourists in an unknown city, my husband and I decided to share a cab with two strangers.

Both were Americans returning to the city they expressed profound affection for. The gentleman was from Houston, Texas. He recommended we try the steak at the Kitchenette, an American-style café and restaurant in Istanbul. The lady, from Portland, Oregon, was a footloose traveller who had hopped on to a train to Istanbul from Greece a few years ago – and had then decided to stay put.

She now teaches English in Istanbul, and like a true local, took pride in introducing us to her favourite hangouts. "You must go to Sensus wine bar near the Galata Tower," she said. "It's my favourite bar in the city. And you must try the fish sandwiches that the fishermen sell at the Golden Horn. They aren't too fancy – just grilled fish with a squeeze of lime – but it's the freshest fish you could eat."

The Golden Horn is that estuary of the Bosphorous Sea over which the Galata Bridge runs, and it is those fishermen that I had seen angling languidly by the bridge. In bygone days, when it was still called Constantinople and was considered the epicenter of European culture and trade, the Golden Horn was the harbour that traders from across the world used to enter the city. Several communities -- Greeks, Arabs and Armenians, for instance – settled to either side of the Golden Horn.

Today, Turkey is no longer the axis upon which the rest of Europe spins. Istanbul is no less lovely, although its buildings seem to have acquired a patina of age they can't quite shake off. What hasn't changed, though, is that the city is still a Mecca for migrants. Many of the people I met in Istanbul were really from elsewhere, either looking for a foothold in the ebullient economy or simply a sense of belonging, as was the case with our American acquaintance.

On our first night in Istanbul, we decided to get familiar with the city by befriending Bacchus at Sensus wine bar. In recent years, Turkish wine production has witnessed a marked upswing.

Many wine bars have opened up in the vicinity of the Galata Tower, the ancient stone tower that looks out over Istanbul and draws scores of tourists. But wine-swilling Turkish out crowd the tourists at these bars, and as we discovered at Sensus on a Friday night, you often have to make reservations in advance or be content with a seat at the bar.

Down a winding, cobble-stoned street, Sensus is a cavernous cellar that doubles up as a chic lounge. Choosing from the over 400 brands of Turkish wine can be a bit daunting, but we were helped along by Murat Celebi, our friendly sommelier. We tried several local wine varietals upon his recommendation, including kalecik karasi, similar to the pinot noir. In halting English, he told us that wine has gained more currency among the Turkish in recent years. “She likes raki,” he said, pointing towards his colleague Ipek, referring to the beloved aniseed-based national drink that is considered a lot less genteel than wine. “But I like wine.”

The next morning, we decided to venture into the Grand Bazaar, that ancient labyrinth of shops selling knock-off bags, Turkish delight and sparkly silver and gold ornaments, which has been designed to ensnare inveterate shoppers like me. Upon the recommendation of another shop owner, I ventured into Silver Corner, a somewhat modest store that has more surprises than it lets on.

After convincing me to part with a few hundred liras with flourish and charm, the proprietor, Gem Sezgin, settled down for a chat about the cities he calls home. “My father started a store in the Grand Bazaar 30 years ago,” he said. “In 2000, I had a fight with him and left Istanbul with a 1000 USD in my pocket.” His next port of call was New York, a city whose multicultural social fabric he likens to Istanbul’s.

Having successfully set up a diamond trade in New York, he returned to Istanbul and now splits his time between the two cities. “Istanbul has changed so much in the last 20 years,” he said. “Most people think it is a Middle Eastern country but it has a very strong mix of Western and Middle Eastern influences.”

Turkey shares borders with as many as eight countries, including Greece, Iran, Iraq and Syria. The osmotic flow of people between these borders has resulted in what Sezgin calls Turkey’s “mixed heritage”.

It is through these porous borders that a cricket fiend from Afghanistan found his way into Turkey. We met Chari Olam while wandering around the Old City. Olam manages a bright, spacious carpet and ceramics store. He abandoned all thought of salesmanship when he found out that we were from India, and instead bubbled withbarely concealed excitement. “Sachin Tendulkar is my favourite player,” he said, and without missing a beat, “Did you watch the match againstSouth Africa yesterday?”

Olam is originally from Mazari-Sharif in Afghanistan, and that’s where his parents and six siblings still live. He moved to Peshawar, Pakistan, to further his cricketing career but had to abandon it midway. “I liked cricket too much but my family didn’t want me to play,” he said. He drifted from country to country, working in Kuwait and Iran, before crossing into Turkey five years ago.

He even tried crossing over to Greece, but was apprehended by the border police in his second attempt. Since then, he has lived in Istanbul. Like many others who come to the city to find their calling, Olam seems occasionally nostalgic for home but not too discontent about where he is now. “I am trying to become a Turkish citizen,” he told us, before scribbling down his email address on a chit of paper and promising to keep in touch.